Writhe
by xx-Twisted Fantasy-xx
Summary: Sometimes, when we bend to the will of others, we lose what we need the most.
1. Unwanted Secrets

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, though I REALLY wish I did.**

**This is going to be a series of inter-connecting one-shots based on Wuthering Heights—and maybe an occasional Oscar Wilde—quotes. I might make it into a full story eventually, with more of a plot, but I'm writing a few other stories now, so I'll see how it turns out.**

**So here's the first one-shot... please R&R!**

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><p><em>"It would degrade me to marry Heathcliff now; so he shall never know how I love him: and that, not because he's handsome, Nelly, but because he's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same; and Linton's is as different as a moonbeam from lightning, or frost from fire."<em>

_~Wuthering Heights, Emily Bronte~_

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><p>I can't stand it anymore.<p>

I don't know what brought me to this point, but I suppose it doesn't really matter now. I'm broken, and the damage is done, I'm irreparable.

My sanity has left me, it only took a moment... just one second... and everything collapsed, my world shattering beneath my feet. It was a moment of weakness, but it's something I can't take back, no matter how many prayers I concoct—and I've made many, laced with foolish words and requests for time machines.

None of them were of any help.

And now... now I'm sitting on my bed, listening to Jill prattle on about romance and joy while she brushes my hair, barely able to contain her excitement.

"You're going to have such a great time, Sydney!"

I'm not sure Jill and I share the same definition of the word great, but I nod and agree with her anyway. "I think so, too."

"What made you change your mind?" she sounds genuinely curious, and I feel terrible for not telling her the truth.

"You guys are always telling me to loosen up, and I guess I just decided to follow your advice... that's all."

She runs the brush through my hair one last time, sets it beside her, and looks at me. At my reflection. I bite my lip, trying to hold her gaze through the mirror, but her eyes feel like lasers. It feels as if she is looking inside of me, as if she sees my deception and is blatantly choosing to ignore it. I cast my eyes downward, I can't even deal with a simple lie. How on earth am I going to get through the entire night?

"Finally!" Jill exclaims, still with that pressure-inducing enthusiasm. "I was starting to think that you actually _enjoyed_ studying on Friday nights!"

"I _do_ love studying—especially on Friday nights."

"And Saturdays and Sundays and..."

Before I can say anything in defense of myself, there is a knock on the door.

"Hold on!" she inspects my appearance, running her fingers through my hair, messing it up when my bangs don't fall over my face the right way. Earrings are put up to my ears and examined, just to make sure they match the blue shade of my dress. "There! Wear these!"

She throws the jewelry at me and runs to answer the door.

I can't peer over her shoulder to see who it is, but I can't miss the note of disappointment in her tone.

"Oh, it's _you."_

"I missed you, too, Jailbait."

_He _comes in the room, and sits down on the couch—pretending that his presence doesn't bother Jill in the least.

Jill rolls her eyes at him. "I told you not to come over here! Sydney hasn't even left yet!"

For the first time since The Incident We Must Never Speak Of, _he_ acknowledges me. _He_ doesn't say anything, but his eyes flicker over to me for a fraction of a second, returning to Jill the moment he finds me. Like it _never even happened._

"I know." he says, flashing that brilliant smile of his. "That's the point."

I can feel my cheeks turning red, the blush crawling over my skin like a disease. The last thing I want is for _him_ to be here, not tonight, or tomorrow, or even years from now. _He_ wasn't invited and _he_ has no reason for sitting on that couch right now, other than the fact that this _is_ his apartment...

"Why?" Jill asks, hands on her hips.

"You should know, Jailbait. Haven't you been inside my head lately?"

"No, I've gotten better at blocking the stuff that involves half-naked girls on the hoods of cars." I'm surprised. While there's still some affection in her voice, Jill seems irritated. And Adrian is usually the last person she gets frustrated with.

A somewhat relieved expression crosses his face, but one look at Jill tells me that she hasn't been fully honest with him. It figures. Rose's accounts of the Spirit-bond reminds me that her statement can't be entirely true. Jill gets sucked into his head whenever his emotions are strong... but she doesn't seem like she knows... I blink a few times, realizing what that means.

It really _didn't_ matter.

This hurts more than I think it should, even though it _should_ be no big deal.

_He's_ right to ignore this—ignore _me_.

"That still leaves about one sixteenth of my thoughts open, you know." And that smile is still there.

"I know..." she relents, going to sit down next to him. "How does Sydney look?"

"Since when does she need to get dressed up to go to the library?" he asks Jill. "Not that I've ever been to one, but I was under the impression that they were causal with their dress code."

"Too bad I'm not actually going to the library." I mutter, reminiscing on the time I spent there, looking up new equations and brushing up on my Russian. It's so much easier to forget things when I'm reading, concentrating on other things. In the long run, this "date" might not even be necessary. Not really. The only person it's making happy is Jill, but she'd honestly be happy if I just decided to get pizza with her.

I hope... maybe it's not too late to change plans.

"Hey Jill—"

But she's not listening, she's too busy telling Adrian about how _magical_ this night will be for me. "... and it was so cute. He just walked up to her and asked her out! Just like that!"

_He _gets up and walks over to the fridge, grabbing a beer, weird, because he only drinks things like imported wine. He always whines about Bud Light being for people with no taste. "Aw, how _sweet."_

I can't tell if he really means it or not.

"I know," Jill says, and it sounds like she knows what he's trying to tell her. "That's why you can't mess it up. This is Sydney's first-ever date, and it'd be nice if she had someone to take to my next fashion show."

"You got Castile to agree to another show? I thought that was off-limits." No mention of Sage, I see.

"Well, the print-ads are, but I eventually got them to agree to it."

_He_ laughs, but only after downing half of the can in one sip. "Nice Jailbait—"

Another knock at the door stops him from saying anything else.

Jill jumps at least ten feet in the air, and she moves faster than I've ever seen her move before. Her hand is on the door knob before I can tell her not to let him in. And now she's opening it and I still want to change my mind. This was a terrible idea, I never should have let her talk me into this. I should be reading passages about archaic chemistry now, not waiting for a guy to come pick me up. Chemical compounds help me with suppressing terrible, God-awful mistakes, dating will only dredge up the memories.

"Hi Trey."

Jill didn't greet him, someone else beat her to it.

"Hey... Adrian, right?"

"No," he says with mock offense. "My name is Jet, Jet S—"

"He's kidding," says Jill quickly, before he could ruin everything with a stupid joke. "It's Adrian."

"Okay... well, are you ready to go Sydney?" Trey asks.

_Jet_ clears his throat. "She will be after we set a few ground rules, _Trey." _He says it in the same way he might say "Clarence's House." or "Rose," to be completely honest. "As her older brother, I feel that it's my duty to tell you that her curfew it ten 'o clock, not ten-thirty or ten 'o one. Ten. Furthermore, I expect you to return her with every single article of clothing she leaves here with. You know what they say, no glove, no love."

"Shut up!" I don't point out that he contradicted himself. I don't tell him that his little maxim means safe sex, not abstinence, as he probably thinks. He doesn't even deserve the shut up I gave him but I couldn't help myself. I'll remind him that he can't control what—or who, as he would undoubtedly say—do later on. "Let's go, Trey."

"Alright," he says, wary.

I don't know what's come over me, but I suddenly feel brave enough to take his hand and pull him out the door.

I decide that I'm not myself when I say, rather loudly, "Do you think I'll get to see that elusive tattoo tonight?"

It's not really a question I want him to answer—and I'll definitely be apologizing for it profusely in a few seconds from now—but I know the message I sent was received when the door slams shut behind us.


	2. Madness

**Disclaimer: I don't own Wuthering Heights or Vampire Academy.**

**This one-shot is from Adrian's POV and I'm not too sure about his characterization on this, so tell me how I did. I was kind of going for one of his Spirit-induced moods.**

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><p><em>His new source of trouble sprang from the not anticipated misfortune of Isabella Linton evincing a sudden and irresistible attraction towards the tolerated guest<em>

_~Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights~_

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><p>It turned out that Sydney's dates with Trey were a regular thing.<p>

Which is just _great,_ of course. Sage doesn't have very many friends outside of us, after all. And we were _vampires _(dun dun dun) and the Alchemists only tolerated us for the "good of humanity," so whatever.

I don't care about Sage's personal life anyway. I mean, why should I? It's not like I _care_ about her or anything. That would be stupid. Especially when I think of Rose every time the word 'love' comes up in a conversation.

_Rose._

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. Who needs her anyway? Not me, I can take care of myself, thank you very much. Dimitri is the one who seems so fucking depressed when someone brings up the fact that he's a bajillion miles away from her. That's why Belikov flies back and forth between the Court and Palm Springs every other weekend. American Airlines workers adore him.

Which is just what he needs—a bunch of flight attendants drooling all over him.

Kind of like Trey Whatever-the-fuck-his-last-name-is. Ever since me and Sage busted Keith's vampire-blood-tattoo scheme, he's been starting quarterback at every single football game. And all of the girls—except Laurel and those very hot (stupid) girls Sage hangs out with—are all over him. I mean, what the hell? I'm ten times sexier and all-around better than he is!

I hope.

I can hear that voice in the back of my head saying _no you're not_, over and over again until that's all I can think of.

That I wasn't good enough for Rose, and now I'm not good enough for Sydney Sage.

Apparently, none of the time we spent together meant anything at all. She doesn't even seem to remember what she clearly sees as a mistake—and she dwells on mistakes like nobody else I know.

_You're a vampire, and she hates you for it. She thinks you're unnatural—wrong even. You're just a sidekick to her, someone to help her if she gets into trouble. She probably doesn't even like your artwork. And she just wants you in those classes so you'll keep your demonic asshole-ness away from her._

_You're just an _assignment_ to her._

And that's what puts me over the edge.

The fact that I don't matter to anyone, and though I'm sure someone will tell me that's a stupid thing to think, it makes perfect sense to me.

Who wants to hang around a mentally fucked-up addict?

Sure, Jailbait is still unbelievably nice to me, but I'm driving her insane, too. I saw it happen with Rose and Lissa and I can't deny that it's happening now. I'm ruining a perfectly innocent girl—and I only wanted to save her. There's Castile, too. I'm "Just Adrian," to him. A loser who keeps screwing things up, no matter how easy people make it for me. Sage... I _thought_ she believed in me, I really did, but she spending to much time with Trey to even spare me a single thought.

I'm worthless (stupid. insane. unwanted. patronized. demonic. a monster.)

The list goes on an on and on... and simple words turn into knives that cut into flesh and doubts turn into shadows too dark for me to look past.

I start to reach for the glass of wine I poured for myself earlier, and stop short.

Reminding myself that Jailbait probably doesn't want to be hungover tomorrow, I head over to the easel and tell myself that I need to express myself in a "positive way."

I try to think of something "positive." The only things I can come up with are smiley faces and hearts and that blonde chick from the Twilight movies, (and she's the only reason I went to see them, no matter what Eddie says.)

Finally, I get a spark of inspiration.

I begin painting, hoping that I'll get a lecture from Sage for this, something to let me know I'm not completely forgotten.


	3. Vampire Behavior

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything.**

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><p><em>"That is how I'm loved! Well, never mind. That is not my Heathcliff. I shall love mine yet; and take him with me: he's in my soul."<em>

_~Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights~_

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><p>Lately, Adrian has been acting very un-Adrian-like.<p>

He just hasn't been himself—something I find to be very very disheartening.

I honestly don't know what's wrong, and I've even gone as far as to ask Jill what his problem is. This coming from someone who hates Spirit-magic with a passion. She was surprised, to say the very least, and when she recovered enough to answer my strange question, she says that he's 'just being Adrian.' Not that anyone besides Jill knows what that is. Actually, I'm not even sure that she understands him as well as she seems to.

I knock on the door to his apartment, impatient.

There's a loud noise—a clattering sound—and he opens the door. "Why Sage, what a surprise!"

It certainly doesn't seem like a surprise, but I'm not going to say anything. He looks like he's up to something, something not good. And I'm more willing to focus on that—it's a normal, well, normal for _Adrian_, behavior.

"What have you been up to?" I demand.

"Painting." he says with one of those smiles.

Lord help us.

Though he does seem to be telling the truth. His name-brand jeans are splattered in different shades of blue paint, and I can smell the fumes wafting out into the hallway.

"Re-painting the walls?" I ask, because he's been complaining about not having any inspiration for weeks. "I thought you'd get tired of the yellow."

He frowns at me. "It's _Goldenrod_—for the last time—and no, I was actually working on a homework assignment."

"You're actually doing something that takes brain power?" I feign shock. Usually, he just turns in paintings or sketches he made years ago, regardless of the set guidelines.

"Yup." says Adrian, sounding proud. "Wanna see it?"

"Okay."

He leads me into the room, past emptied tubes of paint and cups of murky water, tinted a bluish-green color. Tarps are scattered across the floor and he nearly has a heart attack when I step a little too close to a pallet of sky-blue paint. Apparently, Keith spent more money on the carpet than I thought he was capable of, and money is precious in today's economy, Sage—or so he says.

"Don't look yet!" he commands, and makes sure I'm facing the wall before he turns the easel around.

"Alright, I'm ready." I tell him, not bothering to hide my annoyance.

"Cover your eyes," he instructs.

I sigh. "Adrian, I really don't have the time for this."

"It's all part of the big reveal—"

I turn around before he can finish his sentence.

"Oh. My. God! Adrian, what _is_ that?"

"Haven't you ever heard of the Smurfs?" he asks, face aghast.

Actually, the Smurfs had been my favorite show as a child, but this is just ungodly. Grotesque. Disgusting. Yes, that's the word. How does he get _this_ out of something as innocent as that? I don't even think I want to know.

"Yes, but why are they..." I blush wildly, unable to get the last part out.

"It's all part of the assignment," he assures me. "I call it 'Outside Of The Box.' Do you like it?"

_Do I _like_ it? _What is wrong with him?

I rub my temples, trying to rid myself of the headache he just gave me. "Adrian, you know you can't turn this in, right?"

His face falls and I can't help but pity him. "But... but it's due tomorrow and... I worked on it all day!"

"Well, if you didn't procrastinate, you wouldn't be in this mess."

"Sage, you've got to help me." I don't expect him to change gears as quickly as he does. If anything, I brace myself for a round of "You Just Don't Understand My Mind Or My Art."

"How do you expect me to fix it? I can't even draw a stick figure and it's not like I can get you an extension." I try to sound irritated, but I know I'll end up helping him in the end—I always do.

He comes up with an idea right on the spot. "Be my model. The assignment is: _paint, draw, or sculpt something that brings you joy. _Last week, we studied van Gogh paintings, and that guy was a major downer. Did you know he cut off his ear?"

"Yes. During his blue period. What's your point?"

"Well, we're working on nicer things this week, so I need something—or someone—that brings me immense joy so... since you're the only other person here..."

"Wait," I say, "Smurfs... _that_... gives you immense joy?"

He thinks it over for a minute, realizing what that means. "You see, I like Smurfs and I like—"

"Okay." I interrupt, groaning internally. "I get it. If that's your homework, why don't you paint a bottle of vodka or marijuana or something else instead?"

"Sage! I'm above most illegal drugs!"

"Most?" I say, raising an eyebrow.

"Not the point," he says dismissively. "You're here. And you kind-of-sorta an okay friend, and I'd love it if you'd be the subject of my picture."

"Fine." I relent, "I'll do it."

He makes me sit on s wooden stool about six or seven feet off the ground. "Stay still," he orders, and I oblige.

I feel like I've been sitting here for days, and I jump at the chance to answer my phone. My muscles ache when I bring the cell to my ear, I wince slightly, but regain my composure despite Adrian's protests.

"Hello?"

"Sydney?" a muffled voice on the other line says.

I nearly drop my phone when I realize who it is. "Trey."

"Do you know what time it is?"

I glance at the clock ticking away on the wall.

9:30.

I relay the time to him in a calm and collected manner, though I feel like I've been hit in the stomach with a boulder. Twelve boulders, really.

Trey seems more hurt than angry when he reminds me that we were supposed to be on a date tonight. An hour ago.

"I know, listen I'm—"

"Save it." and the line goes dead.


	4. Adrian Discovers the Internet

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or Wuthering Heights or anything else referenced in this chapter that anybody else owns.**

**I have attempted to add a little humor into this otherwise morose (Hey, that's one of my vocab words. My disorganized English teacher is rejoicing somewhere!) fucked up story of one-shots. Probably, most likely, this isn't as funny as I think, but... oh well.**

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><p>"<em>Honest people don't hide their deeds."<em>

_~Emily Bronte, Wuthering Heights~_

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><p>Sage is mad at me.<p>

Apparently, purposely sabotaging her date with Mr. Hot-shot Football Shit-head crossed some sort of boundary or something.

And it's not like I could reason with her—the girl is like a walking encyclopedia. She_ is_ reason. She didn't seem too happy about my grade either. (I got an A. Thank you evil scheming.) Even Castile couldn't get her to speak to me; Jill doesn't even want to get in the middle of it. I mean, really? I've apologized a bunch of times, begged even, and no one seems to care.

I sigh.

And then it hits me: I have no life.

Since I've quit drinking and partying with hot girls—basically anything that involves the word _fun_—my life has been pretty damn boring. I guess I could work on some more paintings, but I honestly don't feel like it. Nothing could top a bunch of blue people doing indescribable acts, or at least that's what I told Jailbait when she asked me why I had all of these blank canvases lying around the apartment. And what else is there to do? I already took Jailbait to see the latest Twilight movie—the one with the sparkly vampire not-sex—and _that_ was thirty bucks I'd rather not have spent.

Defeated, I pick up my laptop. I haven't used it in awhile, and by "awhile" I mean never. I don't even remember taking it out of the box. I cringe, swiping at the layer of dust that's formed on the screen. I turn it on, and follow the set-up procedure as best I can.

And then it asks for a password.

I finally decide to use_ Mrs. , _because, really, who else is going to find out? That, and my second choice, _AdrianisSexy1234_, seemed a little _too_ obvious.

Once I connect to the internet, I realize I'm at a loss. What do people _do _on the internet anyway?

I type in a bunch of random letters into Google and find myself at a site called Fanfiction.

What the hell is that?

I scroll through a bunch of stories under the Harry Potter archive until I find one called "My Immortal." I click on it. At the very least, it seems like it will be worth a few laughs, which I need.

**(Fifteen minutes and four chapters later...)**

My left eye is twitching.

How is this even published? I'm no editor or anything, but I'm pretty sure that a sex scene consisting of "putting his boy thingy in my girl thingy." isn't even suitable for people on this site, much less a _real_ book.

The next website I go to is Twilight-centric.

It looks pretty innocent at first, but that judgment changes the second the video I'm watching turns into porn.

That's right.

_Porn._

Not that I haven't watched it before, but this shit is just _wrong on so many levels_. I mean, even blood whores don't do that and.. wait, this is a _Twilight_ website. Oh God, what kind of people watch this? Probably the losers who are stupid enough to buy the books. Hold on... _Jailbait_ bought those books—all four of those overly-priced pieces of shit. It looks like I'm going to have to lecture her on internet safety.

The video is still playing while I try to figure out how to bring up the subject of lewd homemade videos with her.

I don't even hear the door open.

"_Adrian, what are you doing?"_

"Nothing!" I tell Sage, slamming the laptop shut. "I swear!"


End file.
